Your Love is like
Whisps of Clouds...
The air of their soft presence
Is the stuff of Dreams...
Yet, as I reach up to Caress them,
They slip through my fingers...
Much like everything else,
They're not what they seem...
Dissipating with the approaching Nightfall,
Replaced by Dancing Stars
And a singing Moons lonely call...
I wish
I wish
With all of my Soul
On their Grace
To again one day
Run my fingers along the lines
Of your familiar face...
An unfortunate disconnect
Along the Rainbows light
That carries our Love
From Heavenly wings
To Earthly might...
When shall this Prize
Materialize?
When shall I be able to
Rest upon you my hungry eyes?
As I lay me down to sleep
I pray to whichever Godly entity
That is open and willing to hear me...
Grant me Strength
Grant me Patience
Grant me Faith and unshakable Surety...
As Above
So Below...
Won't you please guide this lost Heart
Amidst these lands
Unknown...
About the Creator
Nadia Nichole
...π¨ο»Ώ πΎπππππ ππ π³πππ πππ π π·ππππππ ππ πΎπππ π....
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Where there's Art there's Heart
Here's a stupid thing: I adore art, but I start to panic whenever I step into a gallery. In the one place I should be at my contented best - surrounded by walls teeming with creative expression - I fall apart. What ought to be an enriching experience, tacitly designed to facilitate the exploration of human empathy and perspective, is for me an overwhelming purgatory of anxiety that compresses me to the point I cannot breathe. At the same time, I experience a sense of extraction, as though my head is being prized open to create a hole so big my sanity could evaporate. Somewhere between these two opposing forces of vice and vortex, I feel myself dissolving in a stream of panic that makes me want to cry; and I feel so daft feeling this way, that all I want to do is run for the hills.
By Caroline Jane2 days ago in Humans
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